


There Cannot Be Peace...

by killjoy_assbutt



Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [8]
Category: August Walker - Fandom, Henry Cavill - Fandom, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, So much angst, a little background for poor Auggie, but happy end, read the warnings!!!, yes happy end for Auggie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoy_assbutt/pseuds/killjoy_assbutt
Summary: Not going to give a summary, don’t want to spoil anything, but read the warnings carefully!!! there is a lot of angst, death and sadness, so don’t read if you’re not 100% into that, please!!!Pairing: August Walker x 1st person readerWarnings: major angst, like trust me! i cried like a baby writing this; character death!!!, mention of childbirth, blood and injuries, sadness, so much sadness; but a happy end?? yeah, it’s happy… the greater the suffering, the greater the… you know how it goesHONESTLY, IF YOU’RE NOT INTO THIS, DON’T READ!! PLEASE!!!A/N: when i said i cried while writing this, i’m not lying. i cried every time i came back to edit this, but i wanted to give August a backstory and an happy end without messing with the canon… in it's essence, the motive behind August's actions is love, fight me! … also, the image of heaven how it is described in this story is based on the CW series Supernatural, along with their version of Death.If you liked it (then you’re sick and twisted, JK), likes and comments  are always welcome💕
Relationships: August Walker/Reader, August Walker/You
Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051982
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	There Cannot Be Peace...

I always knew it would end like this. Not exactly like this, for sure, but this is close. I’ve always known I’d die because of his job. From the moment I met him, I knew it wouldn’t end well, with us living happily ever after. But this didn’t stop me from loving him, a little more every day. It didn’t stop me from marrying him. It didn’t stop me from giving him my life.

And now I’m lying here, in his arms, around us a pool of blood, my blood, as my vision fades in and out, eyelids feeling heavy as lead, ready to lock me in the all-consuming darkness. Forever.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I whisper weakly, a faint smile on my lips, reaching a bloodied hand up to cup his strong jaw and he grabs it like an anchor, holding it to his face as if it could somehow stop what was happening, keep me with him. It won’t. I am dying, there is no way back. There is no use in putting pressure on the bullet-wound either; the blood would find another way out. And even if help was on the way, they’d never arrive on time.

His tears mix with my blood on his face as they stream down his face, creating little red puddles where they drop to my skin.

“We’re gonna be okay,” I whisper again, trying to assure him, breathing heavily, shallowly, to stay with him as long as I can.

This is the only time I have ever seen him cry. And it would be the last. I feel the life draining from me by the second. I don’t have much time left.

“You’re gonna be okay.” A lie. I know he will not be okay. Too much has happened in his life. He had often told me that I was the only thing that kept him sane. His job allowed him to let go of pent up aggression, but at the same time, it was the main reason for it, along with a traumatic childhood that he never spoke about, not even to me.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” he cries, clutching onto my body that grows more limp with every moment that passes, “I should have been here earlier. I should have had back-up. I could have saved you. If I had-”

Even now, I cannot help but think how out of character this is. I had never seen him break before, never seen him cry. Usually when something upset him, he’d let it out on me, fuck me hard, ‘cleanse his soul’ how he called it. But he couldn’t do that now.

“No. It’s not your fault,” I choke out, speaking becoming harder and I cough, spluttering blood on his grey shirt. “You know… you know it’s not. I-” I have to stop to take a few deep breaths. I feel my end drawing closer and closer. I become frantic. He has to hear what I’m about to say. One last time. “I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget that. Don’t you,” I cough again, further soiling his shirt, the dark red droplets soaking into the fabric, blooming like flowers of death. My blood isn’t the only blood on his shirt, but the only one that matters, the only one that should not be on there. “Don’t you dare forget that. I love yo-”

And that is when my vision goes black. I couldn’t even finish my sentence before my eyes fall shut and my body falls completely limp in his arms, my last breath leaving my lungs with a sound close to a sigh – if I had been alive.

I don’t hear anymore how he says it back to me. Neither do I hear the bloodcurdling scream that rips from his throat as my lifeless hand slips out form under his, echoing in the empty warehouse, littered with dead bodies; mine one along many.

~*~

“I love you, angel” he whispers to her deaf ears. This is the only time he said those words; he preferred to show her their meaning – actions are more powerful than words in his mind. Part of him is glad she didn’t hear them anymore; he didn’t want to seem weaker as he already did. She was the one dying for crying out loud, not him. _Then why does he feel like he just died?_

But a bigger part wishes she had heard him say it, wanted those words to be the last thing she heard, saying those words were his last action of love he could ever show her, but it’s too late now, she’s gone. His precious angel is gone, died without having heard him say he loved her, not only once in her life. Her limp hand falls from his face and he lets out a desperate cry, screaming out all the grief, frustration and rage that he had kept at bay for her in her last moments.

This is the last time he allows himself to be weak, the last time he allows himself to feel anything but the cold controlled flame of hate that had been gnawing on his heart for way too long. He had held it back. For her. Planned and schemed, but always with one thing in mind – her. He’d do it for her. But if he failed, she would be in danger. So he held back, put together small pieces of a plan to save the world, that was still not finished. As absurd as it may sound, anarchy needs time, and he had worked slow. He had been afraid it would ruin the one good thing he had in life. He had been afraid it would consume him, turn him entirely into the cold monster he had to be for his job, unable to show softness to even the love of his life. And she had needed him more than ever in these last months. She had relied on him, needed him with her. But most importantly, she needed him to be gentle with her in the last months, her emotions had been all over the place already, he didn’t need her to worry about him as well, about what he was doing when he locked himself in his office.

But she is gone now, lying limp and cold in his arms, a pool of her blood surrounding them. There is nothing holding him back now. He would give in to the flame now; go through with the plan that had been on his mind for way too long. He would do it for her; that had always been his plan. He would make the world a better place, for her. A safe place, where people actually cared for each other. Now he would do it in her legacy. He would not let her death break him.

 _The way to peace is paved with dead bodies; it always has been. There cannot be peace without, first, a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace._ These words would become his mantra when he would lay awake at night, unable to fall asleep, when images of her laying in his arms, bloodied and pale, would keep him awake, the sound of her last breath echoing in his mind.

 _The way to peace is paved with dead bodies; it always has been. What is another?_ But then again, the body at matter wass his wife. His beautiful, innocent, too-good-for-this-world wife, who had given the last of her strength in this world to give birth to his child. It had taken a single bullet to kill both of them. It had taken a single bullet to shatter his world.

She had been right about one thing, though: her death is not his fault. It is his boss’ fault. She had denied him back-up, even though he had asked her multiple times once he found out his target had captured his very pregnant wife. He had begged, even, made an utter fool out of himself. ‘ _What? You work better alone_ ,’ she had mocked, recited to him what he said every time he was partnered with another agent. ‘ _We’re talking about my wife and unborn child!’_ He had yelled at her through the phone. _‘Collateral damage,_ ’ he had heard her say on the other end, _‘Just finish the job, Hammer’_ and he would have sworn she shrugged. The audacity of her to use his nick name in this situation had him fuming.

He had always hated that bitch with a passion. Now this. His wife’s blood was on her hands, and hers alone. Sure, the men who had killed her aren’t free of guilt either, but they would have ended up dead anyway after the mission was completed, the only difference would be that his wife and baby would be alive now, happily at home or in a hospital, recovering from welcoming a new life into this world.

But they aren’t. They are laying in his arms, dead, a hole from a single bullet piercing through them both. And all of this because that bitch had denied him back-up; the only time he had asked for something, the only time it really mattered that somebody – other than himself – lived once he exited the building.

He’d tear it all down, expose every dirty little secret, every lie. He’d do it for her, for them, for the only people he ever cared about. And then he’d see them again, one day. Though, he doubted that. With the plan he had in his mind, that he was now determined to act out, he’d go to hell. He knows that if hell exists, he’ll go there. His wife and baby, though, both pure and innocent, - if it exists of course – would be in heaven now. There was always a reason he called her his angel. Now they are where they have always belonged. Away from him. And maybe, it’s better this way, he wouldn’t want them to see what their death will make of him.

~*~ 

Well, I don’t hear his words and screams with my ears. But when I open my eyes again, I stand next to him, seeing how he sobs over my dead body, cradling my head in one hand and the tiny, bloody body of our little girl in the other. Looking down at myself, I notice how I hold her in my arms. She’s sleeping peacefully, a harsh contrast to the scene right in front of me.

“Time to go,” I hear a soft voice sound from behind me. I turn and spot a beautiful woman, dressed in all black, standing there, holding out a hand for me.

“Will he be alright?” I ask, tears welling up in my eyes.

“I cannot tell you, even if I knew,” she smiles just as soft as her voice. Her chocolate skin gleams in the weak light and compassion flashes through her dark eyes.

“Where will you be taking us?”

“Through the door. That’s all. I have no control over where you go, neither do I know.”

I nod, facing the shattered shell of my husband again. It hurts seeing him this way; more than when the bullet ended my baby’s and my own life so cruelly. I take a step closer to him and put my hand to his cheek. But I don’t feel his coarse scruff under my fingers, it feels like my hand is touching air. Now, the tears spill. I wish there was a way for him to see me now, for him to know that I am alright, and that so is our daughter, but there is none; all I can do is watch him wail and sob, screaming out his hatred to the world as I kneel next to him.

“You have to make a choice,” Death says, “You can stay here forever, never able to find rest, or you can come with me and find peace.”

Wiping my tears with my free hand, I nod and stand, leaning down to press a last kiss to August’s forehead, whimpering when I don’t feel his skin against my lips. It’s hard to turn away from him and walk towards Death, but I do, my feet feeling heavier with each step. She holds out her and I reach for it, hesitating to grab it.

“Will I see him again?” I ask, my voice a broken whisper, my hand hovering mere inches from hers.

Death smiles at me, “That depends on him alone.”

I nod, an uneasy feeling forming in my stomach. He had told me about his plan to heal the world. I might not see him again. Still, I take Death’s hand and she leads me into the light. As much as I want to stay here with him, watch over him, I want my babygirl to rest. I cannot force her to stay here.

Moments later, I find myself on a forest road. I know this road, and right in front of me is the log cabin by a small lake we bought shortly after we got married. I smile, remembering the reason why we had bought it. _‘So our poor neighbors don’t have to hear you scream my name,’_ August had said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. How right he had been back then; we had been one noise complaint away from being thrown out of our apartment. So every time we came out here to get away from the city, he wrecked me completely, making me fall apart beneath him over and over until he couldn’t take it anymore. We had made our best memories in that house. We created the little human sleeping in my arms in that house.

I look around, but the woman is nowhere to be seen. I’m alone except for my little daughter in my arms. Without thinking anything more, I enter the house.

Time passes. I can’t tell how much, but I watch my daughter grow. I miss him, I miss him desperately, but I also hope he’s alright and that he won’t come here any time soon, meaning that if he did, his life would have found an end. And knowing him and his plans, his end wouldn’t be peaceful. He’d die with no one to comfort him in his last moments; no one could tell him he’d be alright. Because everyone but me saw him as a monster. An emotionless and cold being, only caring for destruction. I saw everything but. He cared deeply, not only for me, but for the world. It was his goal to bring everyone closer together, _a brotherhood of men_ he had called it, to get rid of the corrupt governments that did nothing but wage war against each other. No, his mission, ultimately, was love; and he was willing to make the necessary sacrifices.

I’m currently in the kitchen, making a sandwich for my little girl, watching through the window as she plays in the garden. I flinch when there is a knock on the door. That has never happened before; every day had been the same, except that my daughter grew steadily. I dread whom it might be, my heart breaking for my poor husband, knowing that his life found a surely painful end.

Quietly, I tiptoe to the door, take a deep breath, bracing myself for what I’d see, and open it.

My eyes grow wide when I see him standing on the other side, just as his. My dread and broken heart disappear the moment I see him, and are overtaken by relief and nothing but pure joy.

“Angel,” he gasps, unable to move. He looks horrible, half his face burnt, covered in angry, red blisters. August stares at me, confused, but I ignore it as I let myself fall into him and pull him down for a kiss, finally able to feel his skin on mine again, the scratch of his stupid mustache against my lips. I missed this, feeling him, seeing him, being with him.

“You finally made it home,” I sigh against his lips. When I pull back to look at him again, the blisters are gone and he looks as gorgeous as on the day I was taken from him.

“Angel,” he rasps again, burying his head into my neck as he pulls me close, “I failed. I wanted to save the world. I wanted to do it for you, but I failed. I…”

“Shh,” I coo, running my hands up and down his back and through his hair. Oh, how I’ve missed his soft curls! “You’re here now, that’s all that matters. C’mon.” I pull back from him and hold out a hand for him to take.

He grabs it without hesitation and lets me lead him into the house, closing the door behind him. I have him sit on the couch in the living room. “Wait here,” I tell him, while I go to the garden door.

“Honey, come inside!” I call out for our daughter, “There is someone you have to meet!”

The little girl skips towards me, her chocolate curls bouncing, her ocean blue eyes lighting up, features she has from her father.

“Who is it, mommy?” she chirps, her voice like a little bell.

I only smile and guide her into the living room, where August stands up immediately at the sight of us approaching, surprised and smiling wide. I have never seen him like this.

“Love, meet April,” I beam at him. I’ve waited so long for this, doubted even the day would ever come. I take a step closer towards him, his hand stretching out and resting on my lower back as he stares at our daughter in awe. April, however, seems uncertain of the whole situation. She’s standing in the middle of the living room, eyes wide as he nervously fidgets with her dress. I don’t blame her, it must be weird for her to see a man in our house, when all she has ever known is me.

“Mommy?” she asks timidly, “Who is that?”

I smile at her, gently pushing at August’s shoulder for him to sit back down on the couch, as I walk over to the little girl and pick her up in my arms.

“That, honey,” I flick her nose playfully, “Is your daddy.” I sit down on the couch, while August wraps his arms around the two of us.

“Hello, April,” he coos, overjoyed with seeing her. He had held her only once, when he pulled her from my dying body. He had held her tiny corpse.

April climbs onto his lap almost instantly, snuggling into him as if she had known him her whole life. “I missed you, daddy,” she squeals, clutching onto his shirt.

August laughs, pressing a kiss first to her cheek, then to mine. He rests his forehead against mine. Never have I seen him this happy.

“What is this place, angel?” he whispers.

I smile as I answer. “Heaven. Now it’s finally heaven, with you,” I whisper.

I lean up to press my lips to his, finally able to taste him again after all this time. He kisses back with the same desperation, forgetting about our little girl in his lap for only a moment as he slips his tongue into my mouth and pulls me closer. Well, until-

“Ewww!”

We break apart, laughing and I sink into his arms again, head resting on his shoulder, and his head on mine. This is everything I ever hoped for; the three of us together. I don’t even care that it’s the afterlife, as long as we’re together, as long as he is with me. It truly is heaven, my heaven, with him and our daughter.

Because in the end it’s not what you do, but your reason behind it _. There cannot be peace without, first, a great suffering; the greater the suffering, the greater the peace_. And how we have suffered. And now we’re at peace, the greatest peace I could have wished for. More at peace than we would have been if we were still alive.


End file.
